Writing the threads of my reality

There was some very severe flooding in my area over the last week. My friends have no clean water; the authorities, uncaring and caring at the same time, have switched off the pumps to prevent contamination. Homes and businesses have been destroyed as the water swept through them. People are angry and afraid, looking for someone to blame while politicians and civil services wriggle away from their gaze.

Last week, when the flood was at its worst, there were rivers flowing through the streets at night. Then the morning came, and the rain stopped for a while. The sun came out for a few hours, and all was sparkling, rippling reflections of light and shadow; a town made suddenly strange and wonderful through disaster.

My heart is with those who have lost so much in the floods, but I cannot forget that I saw the worst of it, and it was beautiful.